


Nonaddictive

by Marty (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is fourteen when he goes to visit Dave and his lame-as-shit brother. Things go smoothly and Dave's Bro actually isn't <i>so</i> bad to hang out with. He's not the coolest guy ever, but there are definitely ways that he could be lamer.</p><p>There are very obvious ways he could be cooler, though.</p><p>Not offering weed and anal sex to a fourteen year old boy is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just going to put chapter warnings at the beginning of each one so i don't totally spoil everything by tagging stuff that happens. yeah. okay? okay.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: marijuana and high sex, which is apparently considered dubcon? i mean i think it's different but some people do consider it dubcon so that's. a thing. okay. i think that is all.

On your fourteenth birthday, two things happen: first, your dad gives you a laptop he intended to give you for Christmas but forgot about. Second, your dad gives you a plane ticket to see Dave in Texas.

You’re overexcited and overenthusiastic but it doesn’t matter too much because you’ve known Dave since you were like ten and seeing him is gonna be great.

Your dad tells you that you can only go if you get 90s and over in all your classes, which you really didn’t need any incentive to do in the first place, so it isn’t that hard to manage it.

July third, your dad drops you off at the airport, reminds you that he’s proud of your grades, and tells you that he’ll miss you and to have a good time with Dave. You tell him you’ll miss him, too, because a month is a long time for you to be away from home, and tell him that of course you’ll have fun with Dave because it’s _Dave_ and he’s your best friend.

You are about to spend a month at Dave’s apartment in Texas.

Between the airport in Seattle and the airport in Houston, nothing is all that interesting—you read your book and don’t do much else. You do come close to finishing your book and that sort of sucks because you’re not gonna have much to do on your way back to Washington, but that’s fine.

When you meet Dave face-to-face for the first time, you give him a hug and a fistbunp and then give a more polite hello to his brother, who laughs at you when you call him ‘Mr. Bro’ and tells you to just call him Bro.

Bro seems different from other adults you know. Probably because he doesn’t act like one in the least.

Like, at all. He speeds when he drives and he looks away from the road at least five times in the twenty minute drive from the airport back to his and Dave’s apartment, mostly to bother Dave.

It’s like he’s stuck in that sixteen-year-old-boy stage forever. It doesn’t bother you _that_ much, all things considered, because, hey. One more person who acts like he’s around your age to hang out with.

Sort of.

Dave’s Bro is a bit weird, and you don’t have anything in common with him, other than that you and him both like to play video games. Bro’s taste in games is even worse than yours, though. A lot worse. That’s kinda saying something, according to all your friends.

There are a few nights where you end up hanging out alone with Bro in the living room because Dave’s gone to bed and you aren’t tired enough for sleep yet. You get along with Bro pretty well, considering the age difference (and you don’t actually know how old he is, anyway—old enough to have raised Dave, at least) and you have an easy time acting the same around him as you would around Dave.

It’s one of your last nights there before you’re supposed to be heading home that Dave apologizes and heads to bed early. You and Bro both call him a big baby (it’s only one!) and he flips you both off, heading down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Then, almost tentatively, Bro speaks.

“I know you’re like this ridiculously lame little nerd and stuff, but have you ever tried pot?”

You pause the game you’re playing with him, put down your controller, look over at him. “First of all,” you say, folding your arms over your chest, “I’m not lame, and I’m not a nerd. Second of all,” you start to sound like a bit of a concerned parent, “that’s illegal, and it’s addictive.”

He actually laughs at you, which makes you go a little red becuase you’re pretty sure you messed up somehow with what you said. “It isn’t addictive, kid. I swear it’s not. It’s just kind of a fun thing to do. Trust me. Try it. One time.” You go quiet. “Peer pressure.” He’s laughing when he says this, so you give him a rough shove and he snorts, shoving you back.

“It’s still illegal.”

“If we get caught.”

That’s the actual worst reason to agree to anything ever, but you shrug and tell him you’ll try it and watch while he stands and goes to the side of his computer desk, reaching down behind it and pulling out a little box.

You’re almost a little bit fascinated (you aren’t sure if that’s the right word) as he rolls a joint and puts it between his lips, lighting it and taking a long hit.

It’s surprising when, a moment later, the joint is being passed from his hand to yours. You shake your head dismissively and he shakes his head right back at you, still holding in his breath.

“N-no. I don’t… Um.” You turn red again because you literally just stuttered and that was really dumb.

He laughs at you, then he leans forward on the couch. You lean back. He scoots forward, you scoot back.

“Come here. Christ.”

You shuffle back closer to him and and he brings the joint to your lips, still holding it for you, tells you to suck and then inhale and _for the love of God, kid, don’t cough,_ but it makes your eyes water and your throat burn and your chest hurt so you don’t manage to hold it in for long but you breathe out without coughing and last about a second after that before you’re pretty much coughing up a lung. He grabs his glass of water off the table and pushes it into your hands, telling you to drink it and then he’s taking another hit before you even have a chance to start drinking. You drain the glass and he laughs at you and asks if you feel anything yet.

Everything just sort of feels warm. You’re pretty sure that’s the room temperature, and maybe the fact that Bro has been in here for who-the-fuck-knows-how-long smoking weed without any windows or doors open. You aren’t sure if the fuzzy feeling you’re starting to get is you forcing yourself to feel that way (it’s such a movie cliche) or if it’s actually a thing.

You aren’t totally sure of anything right now. Everything just feels a little bit strange but that might have to do with the fact that you just coughed until you were a little bit lightheaded and then drained a big glass of water in the space of a few minutes.

You rearrange yourself on the futon until you can lay down, feet in Bro’s lap, and he laughs at you again.

“What?” Your voice is a little bit hoarse, probably from coughing, and he grins at you.

“You’re high,” he tells you, leaning down so he’s almost laying down beside you. You suddenly feel like you’re really close (too close) to him, and you only stay still for a second before you’re squirming away from him. He laughs again, then lays down completely, looking at you. “Really high.”

That actually makes you laugh, too. Probably a bit too hard, or maybe you only laugh a little bit, but then you roll onto your side, facing away from him. “What’m I supposed to do now?”

“I dunno,” he says, voice sounding slow, quiet, maybe a little lazy. “What d’ya wanna do?”

“I dunno. What do _you_ wanna do?”

“I’m too high for that shit, don’t start.” You laugh again, and you’re sort of pleased when he laughs, too. “Just lay here and… Enjoy it.”

You do just that, shutting up and closing your eyes and mostly just letting yourself get used to the feeling. It’s weird and you don’t know how to explain it, and you don’t know if you _totally_ like it but it isn’t all bad.

There are a few seconds where it feels like you’re moving when you aren’t, and you hold onto the bedsheet Bro has on his futon. You don’t remember saying anything but then Bro’s arms are around you and he’s telling you to shush and that you’ll be fine so you roll over to face him, pressing your face against his chest because you’re a little bit dizzy and it feels nice to be close to someone, even if that someone is your best friend’s weird older brother.

Oh. You start to wonder when he took his shirt off. Or why. He doesn’t shove you away, though, just settles his arms around your waist and leans his face against your hair. He sort of smells nice. Different than you sort of expect an older guy to smell, but the only older guy you’ve ever really smelled is your dad and he just smells like pipe tobacco and aftershave and cake 24/7.

Bro smells like weed ( _duh_ ) and cigarette smoke, which smells really different from your dad’s pipe tobacco. It isn’t entirely unpleasant, but it’s probably the first time you’ve ever smelled cigarette smoke on anybody. He smells like body wash, too, very different from your own, but still really good.

You hear yourself moan against his skin, and it sounds almost like a mixture of tired and aroused noises. You might’ve been embarrassed if you weren’t stoned. He smiles against your hair, then asks if you wanna nap. You shake your head, wrapping your arms around him so your hands are on his back.

“Do you _usually_ just come right out and ask Dave’s friends if they wanna sleep with you?”

“Obviously. Harley’s like an animal in bed.”

“Dude! Sick! That’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

He laughs again, then goes quiet, doesn’t say anything for a while. After it’s been silent for maybe five minutes, he whispers against your hair, “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. I think? Maybe.” You look up at him, and you don’t know when he took his shades off, either, but you smile at him and he smiles back. His eyes are darker than Dave’s, but still red. They might be a little bit bloodshot, just a bit, but it’s kind of dark in the room and you can’t tell.

“Maybe? What _might_ be wrong?”

“Mmm. Dunno.”

He laughs at you and then rolls onto his back, pulling you so you’re tucked under his arm.

“You’re fine,” he tells you, bringing a hand up to pet your hair. You are fine. You feel totally fine. You do let out a little laugh, tangling your fingers into his hair and stroking it.

Then he kisses you. It isn’t insistent and there isn’t any tongue and it’s chaste if anything, but his lips are against yours and it feels nice, so you hold him there, your arms wrapping around his neck and one hand on the back of his head.

After a while, he pulls back for a breath and tucks your head under his chin. “Wanna nap or somethin’,” he mumbles into your hair. You shake your head.

“No, dude, you’re not allowed to nap,” you gently smack his face and laugh. “You gotta entertain me.” You can hear your heart beating in your ears and it sounds weird, feels weird, and then you bury your face harder against his chest and wait for it to go away. “‘M bored, Bro.”

“You’re stoned, findin’ shit to do is your problem.”

“You’re holding onto me.” Not that you want him to let go, especially.

He kisses the top of your head. “I’m sure you can find something to do.” Then he changes the subject. “How’re you feelin’?”

You shrug again, because you’re feeling a little weird. Stoned, obviously, but it’s a weird feeling and you aren’t sure how much you like it. You’ve got a whole bunch of vague feelings and it’s weird and confusing. “Weird,” is the only way to _really_ describe it, so that’s what you say to him.

“I feel weird. Everything feels weird.” You giggle. “Kinda good. Weird good. Good weird?”

“Shush.”

“Don’t tell me to shush. I wanna talk.” He laughs at you again and then kisses you on the lips again to shut you up, succeeding easily because you’re too busy wrapping your arms arouns his neck and leaning into the kiss and thinking about how good it feels to be kissing him.

It does feel really really good. Being in his arms and kissing him and just being close to him.

Maybe a bit too good because a second later he’s laughing into your mouth. “Whoa there, tiger. I think you’re getting a little overexcited.” He finishes his sentence by brushing a hand over the lump in your jeans.

You moan against his lips and buck your hips against him and he hums quietly.

There’s nothing but the sounds of your moans for a few moments as he palms you through your jeans. Then he laughs. “Come on. A second ago you didn’t wanna shut up, now you can’t be assed to tell me whether you’re enjoying yourself or not?” You whine at him, and he snorts. “Use your words, John.”

“Feels good,” you say, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

That seems to be enough for him because he pushes a gloved hand down your pants, wrapping a hand around your dick and giving you a little squeeze, making you cling to him.

He keeps going like that, jerking you with his hand at an awkward angle and his other arm wrapped around you, until you start to wriggle out of your pants. You kick your pants off the edge of the bed, then start laughing when he pulls your boxers off, tossing them aside.

You’re sitting in Dave’s living room with your pants and boxers off, feeling ridiculously stoned, about to be jerked off by Bro, who’s at least in his late 20s.

It almost makes you uncomfortable to think that, but that doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter right now because he’s kissing you on the nose and sitting up grabbing the ashtray again, sticking the joint between his lips and laying back down. He lights it and takes another hit, then passes it to you. You hold it on your own this time, and manage to hold the smoke in your lungs and you don’t cough and when you finally breathe out you get a little bit lightheaded.

“Bro,” you whisper, “Bro, it feels really good when you touch me and I want you to touch me some more.” You hesitate, then add, “please?”

He laughs at you for the millionth time in the night and kisses you on the cheek, wrapping his hand around your dick again.

“Oh,” you gasp and buck your hips forward because the awkward angle is gone now and it feels a lot better and you can’t stop the words that tumble from your mouth. “Wow this feels… So good, oh God. Please don’t stop. Please, please don’t stop. Keep touching me. Please, I want you t—” He chuckles (his laugh is slow and smooth and reminds you of something and you aren’t sure of what it is and you want to tell him that later) and kisses you again, pressing a finger to your lips when he pulls away.

“Shhhhh.” You listen to him and press your face against his chest, thrusting into his hand. After a while, he holds your hips down. “C’mon, do you wanna finish already?” You shake your head, burying your face harder against his chest. “Then calm down a bit.”

“What if I wanna touch you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just backs off a little and then undoes his jeans and shimmies out of them enough that he can pull his dick out through the fly of his boxers.

It’s almost intimidating how big he is, but you grab him anyway, giving him a few gentle squeezes just to test his reactions. He makes little noises in the back of his throat, burying his face in your hair and whispering little encouragements. “Just like that,” he says, tangling his fingers into your hair. “Yes, fuck yes.” You smile against his neck and move forward a bit, pressing your dick against his.

The size difference feels really obvious when you’re pressed against him like this and it’s embarrassing but he doesn’t seem to mind because he presses back as you grab his dick and yours in both hands.

“Shit,” he whispers and then he laces his fingers with yours around the dicks in your hand.

“Your dick is way bigger than mine,” you whisper, bucking against him. “Like, wow.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s hot,” his voice is sarcastic and you flush because that really _wasn’t_ a hot thing to say. “It doesn’t matter that much. Quit worrying about it.” He leans in and kisses your ear, then whispers, “I kinda like it.” You flush redder and then climb onto him, straddling his hips. “Whoa there,” he gasps as you grind down against him. You moan and he grabs onto your hips, holding you away from him. “Hey.”

“Mmm.” You press your face against his chest and try to move your hips some more because you’ve gotten yourself worked up and you need friction and you want to come.

“Stop,” he says, hitting your hip lightly. You listen, sitting up and looking at him. “How far do you wanna go here?” He’s got a cautious (you think it’s cautious) look in his eyes when he talks but you laugh at him, shrugging and then leaning down and kissing him on the mouth. He looks uncomfortable until you say something.

“I dunno, I just wanna touch you. I want you to touch me, c’mon.” You start to rock your hips again and then he pulls you into his arms and sits up, letting you fall onto your back on the couch.

“On your knees.” You give him a confused look but he just motions for you to do as he says and you don’t want to argue because he knows what he’s doing so you get up on your knees, facing him. He tells you to turn around, though, so you do. You’ve got a knee on either side of his hips and he’s got his hands on your hips and he tells you to bend over.

You’re not sure what he’s got planned and it sort of worries you but you do what he says anyway, bending at the waist and holding yourself up with your elbows.

Then he’s got his face pressed up against your ass, his tongue working at your entrance and pushing into you a little bit, making you gasp and moan and squirm underneath him. His tongue is stretching you out, just a bit, pushing all the way in, then pulling out and pressing against you without actually moving.

“Come on, please,” you whine, not quite sure what you’re saying ‘please’ for. He laughs against your skin, making you moan again, then puts both hands on your hips, a thumb on each cheek of your ass, pulling gently.

“You have a nice ass,” he says, literally kissing your ass. You just chuckle at first because he _definitely_ just kissed your ass, and then think about it more, starting to giggle. After a while you have to roll onto your side, curling up and snorting with laughter.

“Oh man,” you say eventually, wiping an actual tear from your eye because you’re laughing that hard. “Shit. You just kissed my ass.”

He rolls his eyes at you, looking far too happy for a guy who just stuck his tongue into an ass. You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, prompting him to pull you back into his lap and grind up against you. You moan and lean in a little, though you’re reluctant to actually kiss him. He _did_ just have his mouth right on your ass.

You kiss him anyway, rocking your hips forward against his until he stops you, bending down and he’s obviously _flexible_ because he starts to suck you off, taking you all the way into his mouth (it seems like it’s really easy for him and that’s kind of embarrassing).

He keeps sucking you and you keep making all sorts of noises, stupid noises, little gasps and moans that you can’t help. Then he pulls back, only sucks on the head of your cock, smirks when you start whining and bucking your hips.

“Have some patience, kid,” he says, giving your ass a little smack that isn’t hard enough to hurt. “I’m just making sure you’re all worked up for me.”

“I’m worked up just fine! Please, _please_.” You need to be touched, need to come, and it’s starting to be too much, combined with every other sensation that’s happening all at once.

“Please what? I still don’t know what you want from me.”

Your mind blanks, your heart pounding, and you give up on holding yourself up, pushing his head out from under you and letting yourself relax onto him, pushing your face against his chest and feeling your eyes starting to well up because you’re so overstimulated and you need to be touched and he’s being difficult. “I— Mmmn. I don’t know either.” You press your face harder against him and you’re completely sure that he knows you’re literally crying because you want to come. “Do anything to me. Anything you want. Please.”

He smirks and picks you up, stands up, sets you back down on the couch and then goes to dig through his computer desk, bringing back a little bottle and a box of condoms, which you stare at for a second because did he _really_ need to get a whole box? He sets both on the coffee table, though, and settles back into his spot next to you, then pulls you back into his lap.

He kisses you, then pulls away and reaches to the coffee table too grab the joint (which is almost gone) again, lighting it up and taking a long hit and then passing it to you and letting you do the same as he wipes at your tears with his thumb. You force yourself to stop crying because that was a really babyish thing to do in the first place, then exhale. He leans in, pushing his lips up against yours in something that’s almost-but-not-quite a kiss, breathing into your mouth. You almost shove him away for a second before you realize what he’s doing, and then you lean into him, making a little noise into the sort-of-kiss. He takes the joint from your fingers and then sets it back in the ash tray, then reaches for the lube he grabbed.

His hands are behind you and you don’t see them but you hear the sound of the bottle opening and then there are little wet sounds and you cling to him as he pushes one finger into you slowly, gently. Your muscles tense up anyway despite how gentle he’s being, so he brings a hand up to pet your hair. “Shh. Relax for me, John.”

You do as he asks you to because he’s already up to one knuckle in your ass and you can’t stop now because all you want is to make him come for you. You want him to make you come, too. You’re turned way on and you need some friction on your dick, you need to get off, but you’re gonna be patient and not rush him.

“Bro, when does it start to feel better?” Your words come out slow, like you’ve got a mouthful of blanket. “I want it to feel good.”

“Mm. ‘Unno. Tell me to stop if it bothers you too much.” You nod and nuzzle into him, closing your eyes tight and moaning against his shoulder. “Feel good?” You nod again because it is starting to feel good.

When you nod, though, you can feel him starting to work a second finger into you. You cling harder to him, digging your fingernails into his shoulder and gritting your teeth until he puts his other hand on your back, rubbing in little circles.

“C’mon, babe. Relax.” You force yourself into relaxing again, making a little noise in the back of your throat and then kissing him hard on the lips.

After a while he adds a third finger, and eventually a fourth, both making you tense up until he tells you to relax a third and fourth time. You’re embarrassed because you’re acting like a little kid, and that’s probably the opposite of attractive, but it doesn’t especially seem to bother him as he pulls you up further in his lap, curling his fingers up against your prostate and grinning at the sound you make.

“Please, no more teasing. I want you. Please.” He laughs at this but reaches for the box of condoms, grabbing one and getting it open and starting to roll it down over his dick before you stop him. “No,” you say, kissing him and frowning. “Come on, I wanna feel _you _inside me, not—”__

“John, I can’t just not use a condom.”

“Please!” Admittedly, you sound a little too whiny, but you roll your hips forward and make another wordless noise, then say, “please,” again.

He’s reluctant, but he tosses the condom aside and lets you move at your own pace.

Your own pace is slow, teasingly slow, even if you don’t intend for it to be. You grab onto his dick and pump it a few times, then move forward and let your body sink down a little bit.

The first few inches are fine. Great, even. “It feels so good, oh God,” you take a sharp breath in through your teeth. “You’re so big, Bro, oh wow.” You sink down further onto him, moaning out loud. “I love it. You feel so good.”

He laughs because you can’t seem to shut up and then puts his hands on your hips, holding you up so you don’t let yourself go too far too fast.

“I—” You cut yourself off with a loud moan as you move the slightest bit. “This is so perfect,” you gasp and push your hips down a little lower, whining loudly. “You— It feels so good. Being… stretched.” It sounds kind of disgusting when you put it that way but you can’t make yourself care as your hips meet his and you make a noise that’s halfway between a moan and a whine.

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Tell me all about how good it feels.”

“It’s so perfect. You’re so big and I— I feel so _full_.”

He laughs at you for the millionth time, then leans up and kisses your neck. “Can I move?”

“Please,” you moan, gripping his shoulders hard. His hips start to move and you keep moaning. Your throat’s going to be sore in the morning because you haven’t actually been quiet for more than a few seconds since this started. When you _have_ been quiet, you’ve just been speaking constantly, streams of words that you can’t think clearly enough to stop.

You focus on the feeling of having him inside you now, the way you’re so stretched out and the way he doesn’t stop moving, regardless of the sounds you’re making.

“Doin’ okay?”

“Faster,” is all you can say, and it’s more like you’re moaning it than saying it, and then, a few seconds later you add, “harder.”

It isn’t hard to get him to comply (you don’t actually have to do anything, he just does what you asked for) and then he’s pounding into you, holding your hips to keep you still. When you start to move in time with his thrusts, it’s like _heaven_ and you don’t think you’ve ever enjoyed anything quite so much.

If you have, you’re incapable of remembering it as he starts getting a little bit rougher in the gentlest possible way and that doesn’t even make sense but you don’t care because everything is too much and—

You come too soon, mostly onto his stomach. He’s surprised, that much is obvious, but he stops anyway, pulls out of you as gently as he can and then wraps his arms around you, ignoring his boner in favor of kissing you on the forehead and letting you settle onto the bed beside him.

You kiss his neck, feeling exhausted and unable to speak or move or do anything but cuddle up to him and sleep. You wish you weren’t too tired to laugh when you think, _his dick is probably more addictive than the weed._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i divided it into two chapters because this is gonna be a thing.
> 
> a thing with multiple chapters.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: i don't think there are any? somebody correct me if i'm wrong. ;w;

You aren’t the first one to wake up in the morning, but when you open your eyes, Bro’s looking back at you with a contented little smile on his face. Your face is just inches from his, and he closes the short distance and presses his lips to yours, almost making you jump back until you remember that you’ve already done a lot more than just kiss him.

His arms are around your waist already, and he shifts so he can pull you against him, his thumb rubbing gentle little circles into your back.

“Morning, babe,” he whispers when he pulls away from the kiss, smile turning into a grin. “Have fun last night?”

You laugh, no doubt sounding a little nervous, and pull back a little bit because this is kind of awkward and you slept with a guy you’ve barely spoken to. That guy is Dave’s _brother_ , no less, and you’re in his bed and you don’t know if Dave has seen you yet and you aren’t wearing any clothes and there’s just his bedsheet covering you and him both.

“Um,” is all you can think to say.

He laughs, then imitates you, making his voice higher, a little whiny, moaning, “faster, harder, oh god, Bro, fuck me, please,” and he starts laughing when you smack him in the arm. “C’mon, though. Did you have fun?”

“…Yes.”

“Regret it?”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and neither do you, then you whisper, “no,” because you _don’t_ , you just aren’t sure what Dave will say.

“I’m glad,” he says, kissing you again and tangling his fingers into your hair, gently tugging out a knot and then smiling. He kisses you over and over, and you try to keep up, then give him a shove when he starts grinding his hips against yours. “If I had to guess, I’d say you won’t be able to walk right for the next little while.” You feel your face get hot and he pulls you against him again, then pulls you along with him until he’s on the edge of the futon. “You gotta try at some point.”

He stands, not seeming to give a shit that he doesn’t have any clothes on, then turns towards you and waits for you to follow. You’re shy, so you wrap the sheet around yourself as you move over to the edge of the futon. Then you stand up and almost immediately flop back down.

“Owww ow ow.”

“Aw,” he leans down and brushes your hair back, kissing your forehead. “I’m sorry.” You make a really displeased noise and hide your face in your arms because this is really embarrassing and you can’t even stand up. “It’ll get better, okay?” You make the same noise again and he laughs, though you aren’t sure if he’s laughing at _you_ so much as at the situation. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” You stay quiet a moment, then he lays back down beside you and kisses you on the lips. You don’t kiss him back and he pulls away, looking a little disappointed. “Are you okay? Really. Tell me the truth.”

“I’m fourteen,” you say, like it might be news to him. He just looks at you, like it doesn’t matter. “I—” You try not to sound like a tool. “I _was_ a virgin.”

“Oh.” He does sound surprised, and then he pulls you against him and puts his hand on the back of your head and you bury your face in his neck because you feel kind of gross, if you’re being totally honest with yourself. You don’t quite regret what happened—but you feel gross because you lost your virginity to your best friend’s brother who you’ve barely spoken to before in your life. “Look, hey,” he nudges you until you pull back and look at him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong with that?”

“We’ve hardly spoken before,” you remind him, and he bumps his nose against yours.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t start.”

“We’ve already—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me! We aren’t even… together or anything. I’m fourteen, and you’re _how old_? It’s kind of a big deal!” You raise your voice a little, then quiet back down because you realize that Dave might be around. “I wanted my first time to be… I don’t know. Special.”

He looks guilty, like he might actually feel bad, and he starts to pet your hair. “I’m thirty-five,” he says, sounding every bit as guilty as he looks. “And I’m sorry.”

The guilt on his face actually makes _you_ feel bad for making _him_ feel bad, so you lean your forehead against his and stay quiet. You lost your virginity to a man only a couple years younger than your dad.

After a while, he pulls away and stands up again, pulling on a pair of boxers and a shirt, then digging through a pile of laundry (you aren’t sure whether it’s dirty or clean and you don’t really want to know) and grabbing a pair of jeans. “I’m gonna go get us some breakfast. Pancakes?” You nod silently, not sure if you even know what to say to him right now.

He leaves the apartment and you slowly untangle yourself from his sheet, finding your own boxers, which are hanging off his computer monitor. It hurts to walk and you’re pretty sure you’re walking weird, but it’s not a big deal because it’ll pass. There isn't any reason for it _not_ to pass. You just hope Dave doesn't notice later. You find your shirt and jeans in a heap on the floor, and your glasses on the coffee table.

It isn’t _so_ bad. You could totally just forget it even happened. You were stoned and so was he and it wasn’t even that big a thing.

Except you don’t really _want_ to forget it. He’s twenty-one years older than you and he’s a total creep but you _do_ sorta like him. He seems sweet. You don’t want it to be a one-night-stand sort of deal. You really, _really_ don't.

When he comes back with two McDonalds bags you’re in front of him before he even says hi, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his chest. He laughs, kisses your forehead, then leads you over to the table, sitting down and shoving one bag over to you. He hands you one of those tiny cups of orange juice that come with breakfasts at McDonalds and a fork, then smiles at you.

“Almost like you missed me,” he says, grabbing three of the little packages of syrup. You look in your bag and find one. Fucker stole some of your syrup, so you steal it back, and he laughs like he thought you wouldn’t notice. “I was only out for 10 minutes.”

“Yeah, okay, well, I thought about it and I’m sorry for acting like it was some huge awful thing that I lost my virginity to you.” It _is_ sort of a huge thing but it _isn’t_ that awful. “I was just thinking maybe we could get to know each other,” you pause a second, then add, “or something,” so you don’t sound overenthusiastic about it.

“Get to know each other?” He shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth and continues talking anyway. “Like, date?”

“No! I- I mean, just, get to know each other. Chat and stuff.” You shrug. “I mean, if we both want to, we can totally date. But, I dunno. Later. Maybe when I’m older.” You _are_ still only 14 and you highly doubt that your dad would approve of you dating a thirty-five-year-old. In fact, you’re pretty sure your dad would literally kill Bro. You’re pretty sure your dad’s gonna kill Bro as it is, if he finds out what happened.

“Alright, we’ll get to know each other. Learn stuff about each other. I… guess?” You nod. “Well, okay. Like what?”

“We could start with your actual name.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think there are any warnings for this chapter either??? yeah i dunno. i am pretty sure there aren't.

He tells you that his name is Daniel Brooke Strider. He got 'Bro' from 'Brooke' and if you ever call him Brooke, he will apparently end your life.

You aren't that scared of hollow threats, so you laugh at him.

"Yeah, laugh it up," he says, reaching across the table to give you a gentle shove. "My parents called my Brooke until I was, like, 15." You snort. "I was serious about ending your short life if you ever call me Brooke."

"Yeah, bring it," you laugh. "Why didn't they just make your first name Brooke?"

"I think they wanted to. My grandparents probably convinced them out of it, I dunno." He gets another forkful of pancake and shoves it in his mouth. "My grandparents were the only family that ever called me Dan."

He talks with his mouth full, and you get the feeling that your dad would kick him out of the kitchen and tell him to go eat in a barn if he wants to chew his cud.

"So, you know my name. What's yours?"

"Classy. Bang him, then ask his name."

"You know what I mean. Your full name."

"Jonathan Eugene Egbert." He snorts. "Something funny, Brooke?" You ask, smiling at him in a way that you'd probably call mischievous.

"Nothing at all, Eugene." He can barely get the name out without snickering. You want to throw your fork at him, but he'd probably throw a whole pancake back.

"Brooke is still a worse name."

"Worse than _Eugene_?"

Brooke _might_ not be worse than Eugene. You aren't going to admit that, so you just shove another bite of pancake in your mouth and glare at him.

"Does Dave know that 'Bro' is short for Brooke?"

"Do you think Dave _cares_ that my middle name is Brooke? I think he'll care more that your middle name is Eugene."

He has a point. You shrug your shoulders and go back to focusing on your pancakes.

He's the one to break the silence.

"So, like... What do you even like to do?"

"I dunno," you say in response, even though it's a stupid answer and you probably could have given a much better one. It's nine in the morning, he should cut you some slack.

"That's informative."

"Shut up! I like video games. Yours suck, though. I like movies, too."

"Shitty ones," he says, picking up his orange juice and just peeling the foil off the top. "I like movies, too. Good ones."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Dude Where's My Car is like a prime example."

"Dude Where's My Car is shit."

He looks like he's personally offended by that. "Dude Where's My Car is cinematic genius. Also, Ashton Kutcher and Sean William Scott make out. There is no such thing as a better movie."

You scoff at him and he scoffs right back, but you can't keep the smile off of your face. You think you might have the beginnings of a crush on him. You're doing everything so out of order.

"Little Monsters is about a thousand times better," you inform him, forgetting your pancakes for the moment and folding your arms over your chest. You mean business, and business is movies.

"No way, kid. You don't actually think that. Please tell me you don't _actually_ think that." He puts his fork down too and leans across the table a little bit, looking at you like he thinks you're bullshitting. "Little Monsters. Better than Dude Where's My Car. You sure you never done any sorta drug before?"

"Tropic Thunder? District 9? Terminator? How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days? You can't say it's better than Contact. Or Deep Impact. You also can't say it's better than Reign of Fire."

"Lame, lame, pretty good, chick flick, stupid, really lame, the lamest. Wasn't most of this shit released right before or right after you were born?" He takes another drink of his orange juice and looks at you like you're too young to know about any of these movies.

"No, shut it. All those movies are perfect and so what if they were released around the time I was born? Doesn't mean I can't think they're awesome!" You use your fork to flick a drop of syrup at him. It gets on his nose and he gives you a look. A look that makes sure you know that you've made a mistake. Or, he thinks you have, anyway.

He pulls off a bit of a pancake and tosses it at you, and you open your mouth to try and catch it. He laughs at you when you miss, then tries again, this time aiming for your mouth. You do catch the second piece. Then he mirrors what you did, flicking syrup at you off of his fork. You toss a syrup-drenched bit of pancake at him, missing completely, frowning as it hits the floor with a wet little 'splat'.

"I hope you're cleaning that up," he says, sounding a little too much like your dad.

"Yeah right," you say it but you're mostly joking. He flips you off and tells you to clean it up. You get up and go over to the sink, grabbing a cloth and ignoring the fact that there are fireworks in his garbage disposal. You also casually open the freezer and reach into the ice maker while he isn't paying attention. You bend to pick up the bit of pancake that landed on the floor, then stand, dropping the ice cube down the back of his shirt.

He makes a surprised half-shout, half-scream noise and he's dropping his fork and turning to stand up, shoving you back against the fridge and making you snort with a laugh. He eventually manages to fumble around and get the ice cube out of his shirt (seriously, who _actually_ tucks their shirt into their pants), and tosses it at you.

You're about to make fun of him when you realize that, at some point, Dave decided to make his entrance.

You shove Bro back and drop your hands to your sides.

"Hey Dave," you say quickly, coming off as nervous without intending to.

"'Sup." You wonder if he doesn't know. No, that's ridiculous. He _has_ to know. You never went into his room last night, and you're pretty sure he would've _heard_ what was going on. He probably would have heard it even if he was three or four apartments over.

If he did hear, he isn't really showing it. Or caring.

"Uh, not a lot, I guess." He looks exhausted, even though he went to bed earlier and got up later than you.

"You guys got McDonalds without me?" He gestures to the table, half-finished pancakes left forgotten for you and Bro screwing around.

You shrug. "You can have the rest of mine." You don't have much of an appetite anymore. "I don't really want the rest."

Bro goes back to sit down at the table, and you follow, sitting across from him. Dave sits at the spot next to bro, the one with your pancakes at it.

You wonder when he's gonna say something. If he's gonna say something. He's just sitting there wolfing down the pancakes you gave him, not saying a word to you _or_ Bro.

You got yourself ready for what you expected to be, like, a shit storm.

You guess you were wrong.

He finishes his pancakes and asks if you want to go back to his room and play a game with him on his computer. You shrug and agree, because you're starting to get a little jittery with Bro and Dave both around. You just want Dave to give you shit already. This 'silently ignoring what everyone knows happened' thing is getting under your skin. You wonder if that was the point of it.

As soon as you shut the door to his bedroom behind you, he turns to you.

"Dude," is all he says, but there's so much disapproval in his tone that you can't help but feel guilty.

"What?"

"Seriously, you know what." You stare at your feet. You know exactly what he's talking about, you just don't want to admit it. "Why?"

"I don't know!" You look up at him and you can feel your face getting hot. "I just- it was a mistake." He looks more disapproving than you've ever seen him before, and you're starting to wonder if maybe it actually _was_ a mistake.

"John." He even tilts his shades down a little bit to stare at you like you've just... Well, like you've just fucked his brother. "Are you stupid?"

"No! Are you?" You give him a little shove. "I just— things got... Out of hand?" You raise your hands in a silent question. You don't know what he wants you to say.

"Dude you were basically screaming. That's, like, the top thing on the list of things I never need to hear again. Please." You want to hide. Forever.

"Okay, dude, I promise I'll never have sex with your Bro ever again! It wasn't even— I just—"

"Don't even bring it up," he says, shrugging it off. You think he's shrugging it off. If it's still bothering him, he isn't showing it. "Ever again. Please." Maybe he's showing it a little.

"Okay, yeah," you nod. "Never even happened."

You spend the rest of the day in Dave's room with him, and sucker him into playing the Ghostbusters MMO with you. He complains the entire time (and gets you _and_ himself slimed about a million times in a row, because he thinks it's funny) but he still does it. He quits when he gets hungry, then leaves to bug Bro for food.

You aren't sure if you can face Bro. Not right now, anyway.

Getting to know him and talking to him (and crushing on him, that might have been a thought you may have entertained) seemed like a good idea when you were talking to _just_ him. You aren't sure how Dave feels about it, though.

You wonder if crushing on your best friend's older brother is crossing some invisible line, breaking some unwritten rule that you can't ask about because it's invisible and unwritten for a reason. You wonder if he's trying _really hard_ not to be weird about this, but it's really bugging him.

You don't know how long you just lay there in Dave's bed.

Long enough for him to have gone and gotten you and himself Chinese food.

He threatens your life with peanut sauce and you drop the entire container of sweet and sour sauce on his carpet. He just laughs at you, then tells you if you don't grab paper towel he'll feed you peanut sauce in your sleep. You flip him off as you leave the room, grabbing the whole roll of paper towel from the kitchen.

"What'd you spill?" Bro calls from the living room without turning around.

"Nothing! It's fine," you call back, retreating to Dave's room faster than you ever have before.

You toss the roll of paper towel at the back of Dave's head when you walk back in.

"You made me spill it," you tell him. "You clean it up." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head and resists, but you think he'd rather clean up the sweet and sour sauce while it's still wet than leave it to dry and get in trouble with Bro. He does clean it up in the end, tossing the paper towels back at you and making you go throw them out.

You're almost reluctant to go back to the kitchen, but you do anyway.

It isn't like Bro's mad at you or something.

You're being stupid.

You need to get over it.

You walk out into the kitchen and throw the dirty paper towels into the garbage, setting the half-used roll of clean ones back where you found them. Bro is standing at the fridge, and he half turns to you.

"Seriously, what'd you spill?"

"Nothing." He looks at you, skeptical. "Okay," you give in, "Dave made me spill the sweet and sour sauce."

He rolls his eyes. "I think you're just a klutz."

"Whatever," you say, rolling your eyes right back and trying (with little success) to keep a little smile off your face.

He shrugs and leaves the kitchen with a piece of pizza he grabbed from the fridge. You didn't know there was actually food in there. You thought it was all shitty weapons.

You go back to Dave's room a little less hastily than before, sitting back down on his bed and stuffing your face with fried rice until you're full.

Dave doesn't bring up the fact that you had sex with his older brother. Neither do you.

You don't spend a lot of time around Bro for the next few days. Dave doesn't ask if you want to play Bro's video games unless he knows that Bro isn't at home, and Bro doesn't bother with asking either of you to play a round of Mario Party with him (though, to be fair, the last time you all played Mario Party together it ended in Dave pinching the back of your upper arm because you stole his star).

After a while, it kind of feels like things ( _things_ being the fact that you had Bro Strider's dick in your ass) have blown over. You don't talk about it. Dave doesn't talk about it. Bro doesn't even speak to you, and you're pretty sure he isn't about to bring up what happened.

When you do speak to Bro again, he acts just like he did before the "incident". You like thinking of it as _the incident_ because that makes it sound more like something cool out of a movie and less like you let your best friend's brother plow you into the mattress of his futon.

He teases you and you tease him right back and you tell him that his video games are lame and he tells you that yours are worse. He beats you in Mad Snacks, Yo. Or, he says he does. Really, he just got his character lodged in a garbage can the fastest. You don't think that really counts as winning. He apparently does. You get into a playful little argument with him about it, and that ends in you shoving him off the edge of the futon using both feet.

He gets back up and grabs you by the arm, tugging you off the futon, too. Then he sits back down in your spot.

"Way to add insult to injury!"

"That's just the kind of guy I am, kid. Get used to it."

You flip him off and shove him until he moves out of your spot on his own.

"God, you're fat," you say it with a grin on your face, hoping he takes your tone as joking.

"You're one to talk," he grins back at you and pats your stomach. You smack his hand away and flip him off.

"Whatever! I'm shorter than you, that's why i look bigger."

"Nice excuse." After a while of sitting in silence, just grinning at each other, he speaks up. "Wanna watch a couple movies? Dave's just gonna be locked up in his room for hours. There's nothing better to do."

You wonder if he'd even be speaking to you if Dave hadn't told you to go hang out with Bro because he's busy working on a song.

"Only if we can watch good ones."

He scoffs.

"You watch Dude Where's my Car with me and I'll watch one of your lame-ass movies with you."

You pretend to think about it for a long moment.

"On one condition." He rolls his eyes, and you take that as your cue to continue with the condition. "You don't call my movies lame anymore. I won't call Dude Where's my Car lame, and you won't call any of my movies lame. Ever again."

"No way. How about I don't call any of your movies lame for the remainder of your visit. You got a lot of lame movies, y'know. I dunno how long I can hold out, not telling you that Little Monsters is awful."

"Okay, well, if you can only hold out for the rest of the month, same here. I'll start letting you know that Dude Where's my Car sucks when I go back home." You laugh.

"Oh, you're assuming we're gonna keep talking when you go back home?" You aren't totally sure that his tone is joking. "Maybe I'm never ever gonna talk to you ever again just because you keep saying my favorite movie sucks." Yeah, okay, he's joking.

"Well same to you!"

He kisses you.

You don't know how he got so close so fast but he's kissing you and you've got butterflies in your stomach as he wraps his arms around your waist. You shift to face him a little better and wrap your arms around his neck.

He's the one who pulls away, and you laugh nervously when he does.

"Um..."

"Sorry," he says, ruffling your hair and making you feel a little too young. "That was..."

"It's fine," you tell him quickly. "What about those movies?" He nods and stands up, walks over to the DVD rack beside the TV, pulls out his dumb movie, and sticks it into the DVD player.

You're thankful that you can't really speak to him during the movie. You don't know what you'd say.

You spend the rest of the day watching movies with him. It doesn't even really take long for the awkwardness to melt away, but he sits at the opposite end of the couch and you don't make any moves. All you can think about is how you're basically a little kid compared to him and he's a grown man and he's probably gonna find someone better for him by the time you're actually old enough for any of this to be legal.

You force yourself to stop thinking of it because you're just being kind of stupid.

It gets easier to talk to Bro after that. Mostly because Dave is usually around, and Dave fills the awkward moments in the conversation.

You think you'll miss both of them when you have to go home at the end of the month.

Bro isn't any more of a responsible driver when he drives you back to the airport so you can go home. He still fucks with Dave, but he fucks with you, too, until you shout at him to keep his eyes on the road. He snorts at you, but he listens anyway.

You give Dave a big hug when you have to go past the point where they can go with you. You aren't sure if you should hug Bro, too, but he ends up deciding for you when he pulls you into his arms. He gives you a squeeze and a sly little kiss on the cheek, and you turn and practically run away when he pulls back because your face feels hot and you're fucking _blushing_. How big a loser can you be.

The plane ride is just as long and boring as it was the first time, but that's no surprise. You end up playing your DS for most of it, but you were lucky enough to get a window seat so you spend some of the flight staring out the window.

When you land, you have to admit that you're just as excited to see your dad again as you were to see Dave at the beginning of the month. You've never been away from home that long before, so you've missed him kind of a lot. You grab your luggage and rush out of the baggage claim and basically right into your dad's arms, because he's waiting right there for you.

He helps you carry your things back to the car, and you're debating with yourself on whether or not you should talk about Bro.

Logic says no. The fact that you tell your dad everything because he gives good advice says maybe.

You think that, for now, you're going with logic. Trying to, at the very least.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: a metric fuckton of pesterlogs, most of them aren't totally posted here because i linked them to a tumblr ahh i'm sorry. if you've ever spent any length of time coding pesterlogs on ao3 you know why i did this okay. it's like the biggest pain ever.
> 
> but i think that's it??? yes? maybe??

Your dad takes you out to breakfast, and, unsurprisingly, he convinces you into ordering way more food than you'd usually even want.

You don't argue it, because you know that it's pretty much futile and you're eating it whether you like it or not.

"How was your visit with Dave?" He's excited to hear about it, you can see it in his face. Like the first time you went to an overnight summer camp, or your first day of school. It's a look that just screams _tell me every detail_.

"It was great," you tell him, smiling around a mouthful of egg.

"Not with your mouth full, son," he says quietly. "Swallow your food before you tell me about it."

You swallow your food quickly and then start in on telling your dad about everything that happened, minus one night and one day, both spent with Bro. You keep telling yourself that he doesn't need to know and, really, he _doesn't_ , but that doesn't mean you don't want to talk to him about it.

Talking to him about it wouldn't make anything _good_ happen, though. Realistically, you'd have to have a death wish to tell your overprotective dad that the 35-year-old guardian of your best friend took your virginity while you were both stoned.

You tell him about playing video games and about pulling pranks on Dave (he snickers and says he's glad you have such a prankable friend) and you tell him about watching movies with Bro and Dave and you tell him about how much fast food you've eaten in the past month.

"I'm sure you miss home-cooked meals, hm?" He smiles in his fatherly way.

"For once, yeah!" You laugh. "That doesn't mean cake, though."

He chuckles. "I've got a welcome home cake for you."

"Dad, I'm so full. I don't think I could eat your dumb cake even if I wanted to."

"You'll eat it," he tells you, reaching over the table to pat your shoulder. You want to roll your eyes but you manage not to, instead settling for looking as sad as you can possibly look. He's the one to roll his eyes. "At some point, you will."

"Fine," you concede, finishing your third egg and starting on your fourth.

By the time you leave the restaurant with your dad, you've eaten four eggs, four slices of bacon, and two pancakes. You don't think you'll be eating that cake for quite a while.

The ride home passes in silence because your dad is the type to focus on the road and need perfect concentration and no distractions, and when you pull into the driveway your dad opens the trunk of the car for you.

He helps you bring your things up to your room, setting them on your bed.

"Make sure you get unpacked," he says, looking a little bit stern. "I don't want to come up here later and have your things still packed up. You unpack before you go on your computer, okay?"

You roll your eyes but agree to do as he asks.

When he's out of your room, you grab your laptop and log into Pesterchum.

\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
TT: Hey kid.  
EB: hey.  
EB: nice chumhandle.  
TT: Thanks, I worked hard on coming up with it.  
EB: the sad part is that i actually believe that.  
TT: You should. I wouldn't lie to you.  
TT: Anyway what's up?  
EB: not much i guess.  
EB: unpacking mostly.  
TT: Did you just get in?  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/28016115321/tumblr_m7qr70wAkK1rco46p)

You wind up finishing your unpacking just as your dad calls you downstairs for dinner. He made mashed potatoes and meatloaf, which you'd probably make faces at if you hadn't been eating mostly fast food for the past month.

You spend dinner telling your dad in more detail about the dumb pranks Dave totally fell for.

"He fell for the bucket of water over the door?" Your dad seems incredulous. That's something you haven't fallen for since you were a kid.

You nod. "He totally did! He tried to act like he didn't afterwards, but he _so_ fell for it."

He laughs. "What about his older brother? Did you get him at all?"

You can't deny a little bit of nervousness in your little laugh. "I got him pretty good a couple times," you say, struggling to come up with a specific example. You should have just said you didn't get him. It takes you way too long to say, "I got him to eat toothpaste cookies once."

"The Oreos?" Your dad seems like part of him thinks it's bad and part of him thinks it's hilarious.

"Yeah! He totally fell for it."

"How much of your toothpaste did you wind up using, John?"

You laugh, then cough to hide it. "Um, all of it. But I promise that at least half of it got used for my teeth."

Your dad just snorts and shakes his head at you, but he's got a smile on his face so you're pretty sure he's not pissed off.

"So do I have to pick some up, then?"

"That would be nice."

"I'll go out after dinner."

You nod and smile. "Thanks for dinner, by the way. It's really good."

"You've never complimented my meatloaf in your life, John. Are you sick?"

You both laugh, and you do the dishes with your dad before he leaves, probably planning to buy about a million more boxes of cake mix along with the toothpaste you need. You're tempted to tell him how counterproductive that is.

The rest of the summer passes way too quickly, too, and you mostly spend your time talking to your friends (which includes Bro) or hanging out with your dad.

You're admittedly nervous about starting high school, and it's apparently obvious, because both Bro and your dad talk to you about it. Your dad just tells you (about a million times) that high school will be the best four years of your life, blah blah blah.

Bro is a little more persistent about it.

\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
TT: Hey.  
EB: 'sup?  
TT: Just wondering if you're nervous.  
TT: You said you're going into grade 9, right?  
EB: yeah, i'm going into grade 9. no, i'm not nervous.  
EB: that's dumb.  
EB: why would i be nervous?  
TT: Yeah, you're nervous.  
TT: What you have to do is learn how to be cool.  
EB: oh, and, let me guess.  
EB: you're gonna teach me?  
TT: You're damn right I am.  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/28189945400/tumblr_m7v6te8A9L1rco46p)

You are pretty sure that his suggestions won't make you cool.

You're pretty sure that nothing Bro Strider could suggest would make you cool, because you're pretty sure that to teach others how to be cool, you have to actually _be_ cool yourself.

Still, though, your dad drops you off at school on your first day and pats your shoulder, wishing you luck. You get lost on your way to homeroom, but manage to find it with the help of a friend from eighth grade, who happens to share homeroom with you.

Homeroom and three other classes. You spend most of the day with him, and when he asks what you did over the summer you tell him that you hung out with some friends and then you tell him that you lost your virginity.

He seems unsurprised and not exactly impressed.

You're going to thank Bro for the useless, dumb advice.

Your dad picks you up and asks how your day went, and you tell him it went pretty well. You tell him about your teachers and the people in your classes and about how your science teacher has a plastic lobster glued to the ceiling of his classroom just because new students ask about it every year without fail.

You also tell him that you need money for a student card so you can take books out of the library and stuff. He tells you that he'll pack it in your lunch bag, and you pretend that you aren't embarrassed that your dad still packs your lunch even though you're 14.

As soon as you get home, you head upstairs and get on Pesterchum. Everyone else always ends up getting home from school before you do, thanks to time zones, and your friends (or at least Jade) are probably expecting a play by play of your day, from the time you got to school to the time you got home. You also have to tell Bro that his advice is dumb.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: your advice sucks, dude.  
TT: That's no way to greet the guy who gave you the best advice ever.  
EB: yeah whatever.  
TT: Did something happen?  
EB: haha, no.  
EB: people just weren't all impressed or whatever they were supposed to be.  
EB: i'm not cooler than i was before.  
TT: Lies and slander.  
TT: You're a million times cooler now that you've had a ride on the...  
EB: don't.  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/28190905108/tumblr_m7v8ruHcEc1rco46p)

Neither you nor your dad say much during dinner. You think he can tell that you're unhappy, but he's unwilling to say anything about it. So are you.

You spend the next couple of months being unsure of whether you should talk to your dad or not. Bro says no, logic says no, but your curiosity gets the better of you eventually.

"Dad," you start as you sit down at the dining room table for dinner. "What if I... liked someone a lot older than me?"

Your dad stares at you for a while, as if trying to figure out who it is you've got a crush on. "Who?"

"I don't— No one! There's no one. I'm just saying... what if." You shift uncomfortably in your chair, shoving a spoonful of macaroni into your mouth to shut yourself up.

"John, that's not just a random 'what if' question. Is it one of your teachers?" He's prying and you wish you hadn't brought it up at all. Bro was right, for once.

"Um, it's just— I mean— I don't know, dad, it's no one! I'm just... curious I guess." You try to make it sound convincing. It kind of doesn't.

"Well, it all depends on how old this person is," he starts, looking like he has to think carefully about his word choice. "It depends on a lot of things, John. How old are we talking here?"

"U-um. Mid-thirties, let's say." You're being so obvious. How dumb can you get.

"Mid- _thirties_ , John? She would be very nearly my age."

Your face feels hot and you stare at your food, unable to hold eye contact. "Yeah, okay, that'd be way old, right?"

"You're 14, son. Why don't you find someone your own age? You'd have more in common with them than you would with someone in their mid-thirties, goodness. It would also be many times more _legal_." He's rambling. "If you got into a relationship with someone that old, I can't guarantee that I wouldn't want to report them to the police, John, and neither of us wants that. Trust me. Now, hey, eat your green beans, I don't care if you don't like them, they're good for you."

You feel like a child.

It isn't a feeling you like, even if you kind of _are_ one.

You don't say much for the remainder of dinner, and your dad chooses to forget your question, instead opting to ask about your day. You respond, only because you don't want him to press you more about who you've got a crush on.

You shouldn't have a crush on him, anyway.

Your dad is right about him being too old for you.

Your dad is also right about pursuing someone your own age, so that's what you decide to do. You're going to get a girlfriend, and you're going to get out of your dumb infatuation with Bro.

This is a perfect plan.

You decide to ask a girl out. One that you talk to all the time. Her name is Emily and while you don't think you have all that much in common with her outside of enjoying science, she seems like she's fun to be around.

So you catch her at her locker in the morning and ask her if she wants to go out with you sometime. "Like, to a movie or something."

She looks embarrassed at first, but smiles anyway, nodding. "I'd like that."

You smile back at her, asking if she wants to walk to homeroom together. She accepts that, too, and even takes your hand in hers as you walk.

You're pretty sure your dad would be really proud that you've got your first girlfriend.

You push thoughts of that out of your mind, because you're sure that your dad is going to make sure you know how proud he is of you. All evening. Possibly with a cake involved.

You meet Emily by her locker again after school, asking if maybe she wants to go and see a movie on Friday. She nods, then shyly leans in to give you a peck on the cheek and a quiet "goodbye," before she runs to catch her bus.

Getting over Bro might be easier than you thought it would.

Your dad does, in fact, bake a cake. He also makes you take one to Emily the next day. She seems to enjoy it, and you tell her that there's a lot more where that came from. Then you tell her about how ridiculous your dad can get with the cake, and she laughs. She snorts when she laughs, and it gets you laughing, too.

By the time Friday rolls around, you've given her a chaste little kiss on the cheek every day to say goodbye. On Friday, though, you give her a tentative little kiss on the lips. She lets you, then pulls back and laughs, obviously embarrassed.

She catches her bus and you catch yours, and you walk over to her house (with $30 in your pocket) after dinner.

As you're walking to the movie theater, hand-in-hand, she brings up something you had totally forgotten about.

"Ethan was saying that you told him you lost your virginity over the summer," she says, and you can't figure out if she sounds worried or not.

To be totally honest, you had completely forgotten about telling him that. You didn't think he'd tell anyone. Especially not your new girlfriend. You laugh. "Haha, uh... Yeah."

"To who?" She tilts her head a little.

"No one you know," you say, shrugging. "It wasn't a big deal. It was kind of a mistake."

She nods and gives your hand a squeeze. You squeeze back and continue the walk without much to say. You still don't know if 'mistake' is the right word to use.

The movie is good, and you think you enjoy it more than she does. You'll have to let her pick next time. You do get your arm around her, though. When you walk her back home, you get a kiss, too. You walk back to your own house with a dumb grin on your face, and you're too hyped up to just go to sleep, so you log in to Pesterchum again.

\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
TT: Dude. Where have you been?  
EB: dude. out.  
TT: I was gettin' kinda worried.  
TT: Seriously though I found a really good quality download of that movie I told you about.  
TT: The really shitty one.  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/28189706715/tumblr_m7v6c8eGD41rco46p)

You have a feeling you've probably done something really, really wrong by telling him about Emily.

You have an even greater feeling that no, you haven't done anything wrong, because you've just told a friend about your day and he overreacted.

You log off pretty soon after Bro does, because he was the only one online anyway, and then you go to bed.

It isn't any of his business whether or not you have a girlfriend anyway, and he's being kind of a baby, in your opinion.

\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
TT: Okay, I know you're in bed and stuff.  
TT: But I just wanted to tell you I was sorry.  
TT: About earlier.  
TT: I just didn't expect that I guess.  
TT: So yeah.  
TT: Sorry.  
\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

You sigh at the messages when you wake up in the morning, feeling guilty that you made Bro feel bad and feeling even more guilty that you got mad at him for it.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: i'm not mad at you.  
EB: just so you know.  
EB: even though you're probably still in bed, i guess.  
EB: i dunno.  
TT: Nah I'm here.  
TT: I'm about to leave though.  
TT: I didn't think you were mad at me.  
TT: I'm still sorry though.  
EB: okay well you don't have to be.  
EB: i'll talk to you later.  
TT: Yeah I'm about to be late for a thing, so.  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: Later.  
TT: Have a good day.  
\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

You have the distinct feeling that he's at least a _little bit_ unhappy with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anybody doesn't know what john meant by toothpaste cookies close to the beginning of this chapter: "Scrape off the filling of a few Oreo cookies. Then fill them with white toothpaste. Leave the cookies out where somebody can find them." john got bro to eat toothpaste cookies. that is all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow could this have taken any longer??? probably not, that's the sad part. oops. sorry for the long wait! this definitely isn't abandoned like at all i just started a new job and it's hard but wow yeah here. this thing is. yeah. no warnings for this chapter but if anybody wants me to add a warning for a certain things just go ahead and ask?? yeah!!! also i did the lazy thing with the pesterlog again. live w/ it.

Your communication with Bro is, for the most part, highly awkward.

You think he's jealous but he's unwilling to admit it, and you have no real reason to ask him or want to know. He has no reason to be jealous, anyway! He's thirty five, and you're fourteen. You're just starting to like the idea of dating and people and stuff. He can't fault you for that, it would be unfair!

You _do_ feel kind of bad for the guy, though.

Deep down.

He seems like he actually likes you, at least a little.

You're pretty happy with Emily, though, because she's sweet and pretty and you have a lot in common with her. She laughs at your jokes and makes jokes of her own. You have fun with her.

You don't bring her up with Bro again at all. He doesn't, either. You don't tell him when you're going on dates, even though he _knows_ , and he doesn't ask you how it went when you get home. That's probably most of the reason why it's awkward—it's like this big unspoken _thing_ and he knows when you go on dates but neither of you are willing to say anything about it.

You both manage to ignore it, though, when there's movies to watch.

He shows you Death Factory. Part of it, anyway—he skips the parts that aren't either porn or people dying, and there is a _lot_ of porn. Sometimes mixed with people dying. It's gruesome and a little gorey in the way that only a B movie can be. You almost want to hope that it's intentionally bad, but you have a sneaking feeling that it isn't.

The best part of the movie is Ron Jeremy. You're pissing yourself laughing because he's the main credited actor, but he's only shown for five minutes as a homeless dude in the beginning, and then for about ten seconds as a dead guy near the end.

It's one of the dumbest movies you've seen in a long time, but you have fun watching it anyway. Bro tries to pretend he genuinely likes it, and tries to convince you that it's good ("Better than anything with McConaughey in it. That sounds like the noise a horse would make. Dumb.") and you try to tell him he's stupid and has no taste in movies (both true).

Your dad calls you down for dinner before you can _really_ argue your point, so you try to give Bro an ominous-sounding reply (dad's calling me for dinner. i'll finish with YOU later.) and head downstairs as quickly as you can because your dad has this tendency to get impatient quickly and shout for you a million times and then he starts in with your full name and nobody wants that. Especially not you.

As you sit down at the dinner table, your dad asks how your day was.

"Boring," you say, shrugging. It's always boring. It's _school_. If it weren't boring as hell you'd be a little bit worried.

"Did you learn anything?" You shrug, shake your head. Sure, you probably learned stuff, but you didn't learn anything hugely important. Otherwise it'd be something you'd tell your dad about. "You have to have learned something."

Every night with this guy. "I dunno, we didn't really learn that much! It's almost exam time, we're just doing review and stuff."

"Oh, right, when is your first exam?"

"Um..." You think about it, but you can't remember being given that information yet. "I dunno. Sometime soon, I guess."

He laughs softly and passes your plate, fork, and knife to you.

"How was your day at work?" You say it while you're sort of stuffing your face, and you're genuinely surprised when he doesn't give you trouble for talking with your mouth full.

"It was alright. Uneventful." He has some idea of what good manners are, and waits until he's finished talking before he starts stuffing his face.

Dinner passes mostly in silence, not because of any tension or anything, but because it always does.

Your dad speaks up eventually. "Have you thought about your birthday this year at all?"

"Well, no," you say, entirely confused. "It's February. Why would I?"

"I was thinking about seeing if you'd like to go visit Dave again." This is a little sudden, you think, because your dad _really_ isn't big on having presents given early or late. He's also not big on having people know what he's getting them before he does it.

"It's... still just February, isn't that kinda early?"

"I was thinking about setting it up for March break," he says. "I just need to know if it's what you want or not."

"Of course I want it," you say quickly, "but that's _really_ early! I mean, my birthday isn't until April, and—"

"If you'd rather, I wont send you at all," he says, but he's laughing and you're pretty sure he's joking.

"Rude, dad."

"It's how I am." He smiles and takes another bite of his food. "So, would you like that, or no?"

"I would," you nod and smile back at him because suddenly you're a lot more excited about March break. Instead of spending a week playing video games by yourself, you'll get to spend a week playing video games in the same room as Dave. What an awesome use of your limited time together.

After you eat dinner, you go back upstairs to tell Dave the awesome news.

\-- ectoBiologist [TG] began pestering turntechGodhead [EB] \--  
EB: dave hey guess what.  
TG: you and my bro decided to be in love and bonk forever  
EB: what dude ew no.  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/33637439289/tumblr_mbxqgfNErd1rco46p)

You're actually a little bit overexcited because _wow_ going to see Dave again is really exciting. Bro, too, but mostly Dave. You like Bro and all but Dave's your best friend. Besides, you've hardly talked to Bro lately. He said he'd be busy with work for a while.

Regardless, you're excited enough to tell Emily and everything. You sit down with her at lunch, pulling your sandwich from your backpack and asking her what she's up to for March break.

"My parents and I are going camping, I guess, even though it's totally gonna be too cold." You open your mouth to start bragging about how you're going to see one of your best friends, but she speaks up first. "...Do you maybe wanna come? They said I could invite someone."

Oh. You hadn't expected that.

"Oh, uh, I'd really love to and all but I'm actually going to visit a friend who lives kinda far away. Maybe next time?" You can see the disappointment on her face. Shit, you feel bad.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Next time." She smiles but you actually feel pretty guilty. It's not like you can put off your visit to Dave, though. That's kind of a once-a-year-if-you're-really-lucky kind of thing. You can't just blow it off to go camping with your girlfriend. "Who're you gonna go see?"

"My friend Dave," you say, and you sound really ridiculously excited for it. "He thinks he's cool but he's not. He's fun to be around, though. I went to see him last summer, too."

"Well I hope you have fun," she says, and she doesn't seem quite as upset about you not going camping anymore. Her smile seems more genuine, anyway. "Where'd you guys meet? If he lives so far away."

"Internet," you take a bite out of your sandwich and swallow before you continue. "A few years ago, actually. Some forum for a video game he pretends he doesn't like."

She laughs, doesn't pursue the subject further, just goes back to eating her food in silence. You glance at the clock and then back at Emily, smiling.

"Wanna walk around for a bit?" You're both finished eating, and that's what you usually end up doing for most of the lunch break. It's not like there's anything else to do at school.

She nods and you shove your stuff back into your backpack then slip it onto your shoulders, taking her hand in yours and smiling at her as she gives yours a squeeze. The class you have after lunch is one of the few you don't have with her, so you walk her to her class and kiss her on the cheek before you head (quickly) to your own.

After that you have a class with her, and then you walk her to her locker, and then to her bus. You talk about movies that are coming out and about schoolwork and about video games and you tell her a dumb joke you heard the other day from Jade, and then kiss her on the cheek again when you have to catch your bus.

The next month or so passes pretty much the same way. You and Emily go out every Friday night (and you feel like you owe your dad big time for that—he pays for you and for her almost every time). You talk to your friends whenever you see them online, and to Bro whenever you see _him_ online. That's sorta becoming less frequent. It sucks.

You're way too excited on your last day of school before March break. Like, squirming in your seat sort of excited. Checking your phone for the time and then looking up at the clock immediately afterwards kind of excited. Texting Dave a time update every five minutes kind of excited.

When school lets out, you meet Emily at her locker and hug her tight, tell her you'll miss her, then head out the main doors of your school where your dad is waiting to pick you up. Your bags are packed and in the backseat of the car, your dad's got your plane ticket, and you are so out of Washington for a week.

Well. You will be in an hour or two.

Your dad says "I'll miss you, son," about a million times on the way to the airport, and walks as far as he can with you when you get there and then gives you a rib-crushing sort of hug. What a big baby. It's only for a week.

When you're in the actual terminal and about to board the plane, you text Dave again, and tell him you're literally about to get on the plane. Then you tell him that you're gonna have to turn off your phone for a while. You don't wait for a reply, just wait for your messages to both send, then turn your phone off. You think you're just as excited as you were last summer when you got to go see Dave.

You end up falling asleep on the plane, which is probably better for your sanity. You have no patience when it comes to travelling, so it's probably a good thing that travelling usually puts you right to sleep. When you wake up it's because of the little 'ding' signalling everybody to get their asses back in their seats and their seatbelts back on, and you hear the pilot say "we're landing in Houston" and then you're excited again.

When you've landed and you're well off the plane, you turn your phone back on. This time, you call Dave instead of texting him, because it's not even a long distance call anymore.

"Hey," he says, and he sounds like he's barely holding his excitement in. That is to say, he's speaking in his dumb deadpan tone that he always speaks in because he thinks it makes him cool.

"Wow, you sound so excited," you say, and you roll your eyes at him even though he can't see you. Not yet, anyway.

"I know. There are all these barely-restrained emotions. I'm literally about to scream."

"Literally?"

"Literally."

"Okay, well, you being dumb aside, I'm actually here! Like, in Houston and off the plane and stuff. I'm just waiting at the stupid baggage claim. Are you at the airport?"

"Yeah, we're here. Me and Bro are outside the gate or whatever. That place they make people wait for other people. Y'know what I'm talking about."

"Yes. I know what you're talking about. I'll be there in a bit!" You're almost too excited. "I'll talk to you then."

You hang up your phone and look for your luggage. It's not really _that_ hard to spot, considering it's this ugly blue thing with a big green slime ghost keychain hanging off of the handle. You grab it when it passes you, almost drop it on your foot, and then catch yourself before you fall over, then turn quickly and speedwalk all the way to the gate.

Dave and Bro are standing there together when you get there, both looking equally bored and equally cool. That is to say that they both look bored and not cool at all.

You throw your arms around Dave's shoulders in a tight hug, and he actually hugs you back and looks genuinely excited when he pulls back.

When you glance at Bro's face he's sort of just looking at you. Awkwardly. You aren't sure if you should hug him or ignore him. You go for hugging him, and he seems really surprised, but hugs you back, tight. Squeezes you a little before you pull away. You shouldn't feel guilty for having a girlfriend. This is stupid and awkward. Why does he even like you this much? He's just a creepy old pornographer who's all obsessive over a teenager.

Except he's not because he's actually a pretty sweet guy and you think he just genuinely really likes you and maybe feels bad that he took your virginity.

If you ever make things this complicated for anybody else, you are going to go out of your way to build a time machine and you are going to fuck with things until there's a paradox and things are un-complicated for that person.

Once you're done with your awkward hug, you smile, though you feel like you might look nervous. It's probably in your head.

"C'mon, I'm done with airports for today."

Dave nods, and so does Bro, so you grab your bag again and let them lead you out to wherever Bro parked the truck.

He drives just like you remember. Too fast, spends more time messing with Dave than watching the road, runs red lights and stop signs and stops at green lights sometimes. You're still pretty sure that your dad would have a heart attack if he knew how Bro drove with you (and Dave) in the truck, but your dad will probably never find out. That's probably a really, really good thing.

When you get to their apartment, you're almost a little disappointed to find the elevator actually working. From the way Dave talks, a working elevator is an unusual thing, and you'd _just_ managed to convince him into carrying your bag up the stairs. Whatever, though. The elevator makes things easier for everybody.

Dave still carries your bag, as if it even matters.

Once you're in their actual apartment, Dave takes your bag right to his bedroom and then comes back out to flop down on the futon. You join him after a second, and Bro asks you what you want for dinner. Dave speaks up first, "Chinese food," and you make a face. The Chinese food places in Dave's area all suck.

Bro shrugs. "Guest's choice."

Yessss.

"Can we get pizza?" Your dad never orders pizza. Literally never. You don't think you'd ever ordered pizza before you visited Dave. Your dad made homemade pizza, sure, but he totally refused to order food.

Bro just nods, then grabs the phone. "What kind?"

You feel like you spend forever thinking about it, but eventually make up your mind and just get pepperoni and extra cheese.

Bro ends up ordering three large pizzas, one for each of you.

Bro and Dave each eat an entire pizza.

Bro and Dave are fucking _insane_.

You're full after three pieces, and you end up having to maneuver your pizza into the fridge, jammed between swords and week-old Chinese food containers. Gross.

After you've all eaten, Dave asks if you want to play some lame game he just got for Bro's PS3.

Bro cuts in with, "why, yes, Dave, you _can_ use my PS3, thank you for asking," and you have to hold back a little snicker.

"Okay, jeez, Bro, can we use your PS3?"

"I said yes."

"Okay, so, John, do you wanna play that game?"

"It's probably stupid," you say, but you grab a controller off the coffee table anyway. All Dave's games are stupid, unless you picked the game in the first place. You're used to it by now.

He gets pouty for a second. "It's not stupid, you're stupid."

"Wow, fantastic comeback. Didn't see that one coming at all ever."

"Shut up!" He shoves you gently, and you shove him back, then pin him on the couch under your full weight. "Christ dude I can't even breathe you're so fat."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

You move to sit right on top of him, his ribs digging into your butt. You are _not_ fat. There's just more of you to love. And less of Dave. Which doesn't make sense, considering he just downed a whole pizza and probably still had room for more.

You play Dave's stupid game with him until late, and Bro alternates between sitting at his computer desk and doing whatever Bro stuff he does and sitting next to you on the couch and watching you and Dave play. Eventually, Bro does have to sleep, so he takes over the futon.

"You guys should go to bed, too," he says, "or be quiet. Your choice."

So you and Dave head back to his bedroom, and you get changed into your pajamas while Dave brushes his teeth, and then you go brush your teeth while Dave gets into _his_ pajamas.

When you're both back in his bedroom, he lays down and snuggles under the covers. You don't get how. It's hot as hell, especially for March, but you guess that's just Texas weather for you. You make a little bed on the floor out of blankets and pillows and stuff, and then roll onto your side to face Dave.

"Are we actually sleeping?" You aren't really tired. You _did_ sleep on the plane, after all. Plus you're just the tiniest bit jet lagged.

"Well, yeah," he says, like it should've been obvious. "The walls are really thin, he'll hear us talking no matter how quiet we are."

That's probably true. "Lame," you say anyway, "goodnight, I guess." You roll over onto your other side and reach into your bag for your DS, deciding you'll just play Pokemon until you're tired. You've got Gastlys to hatch. You'll check them in the morning. It's only your 20th stupid batch so far. If you don't get a timid one with at least perfect special attack, HP, and speed IVs and everything else (except attack, because who _really_ cares about attack on a _Gengar_ ) above 25, you're going to shit. You need the perfect Gengar.

You're actually about ready to give up.

Hatching a hundred Gastlys and having nothing to show for it is tiring.

(You will never actually give up. Only the weak give up.)

The rest of your week passes mostly the same as the first day. You and Dave don't get up until late afternoon and when you do you just sort of sit around in his room or in the living room, playing video games and talking about stupid stuff, pushing each other around and calling each other stupid. You figured Bro would actually hang out with you, but he doesn't. He kind of goes off and does his own stuff, and doesn't talk to you much.

Whatever, you guess.

It takes him until almost the end of the week to warm up to you, and he only even really speaks to you when Dave's gone out to pick up Chinese food (ugh).

"Hey," he says, and he sounds as awkward as you feel.

"Hi." You sound awkward, too. If you were to look up 'awkward' in the dictionary, the definition would probably be this exact situation.

"How's it goin'?" He leans back on the futon, draping his arms over the back of it.

"It's, uh. It's goin'. Good, I guess."

"How's school?"

"I'm getting good marks so far," you say, "y'know. In my second semester classes."

"Yeah," he says, "that's good."

This is the most awkward conversation you've ever had. Maybe. Okay, one of the most awkward conversations you've ever had.

You nudge him in the stomach with your elbow, maybe trying a little too hard to make things feel normal again. He laughs, forced, and nudges you back, so you hit his elbow with yours.

After you've spent a few minutes hitting your elbows together he grabs yours, pinning your arm behind your back.

"I bet you're ticklish," he says, and you try to keep any sort of expression off your face because you're actually _really_ ticklish but you don't want him to know that.

"I am not!"

"Really?" His fingers hover dangerously close to your side. "Because Dave told me you were." And then he starts tickling you. One hand pins your arms above your head and the other works on your sides as he moves, pinning you further, and you're laughing so hard you think you might pee yourself. You try to kick him but you just sort of kick your legs in the air a few times before giving up and trying to get your arms free.

God, you hate Bro sometimes. What an ass. Doesn't talk to you all week then pins you down and tickles you to the point where you're in physical pain from laughter.

It takes you way too long to get your arms from his grip, but when you do, you grab him, grabbing at his sides and trying to tickle him right back.

"Good luck," he says, and he's laughing, but it's not because of you. "I'm not even a little bit ticklish."

"Nowhere?"

"Nowhere."

You don't believe it. There's _no way_. Nobody's completely unticklish. Besides, that wouldn't even be fair.

So you move from his sides to his neck, disappointed when all you get is an eyeroll. You try the backs of his knees, because even _Dave_ gets ticklish there. Nothing.

"You've gotta be kidding me." You fold your arms over your chest and glare at him. "You have to be ticklish somewhere."

He shrugs, then starts tickling you again. The noise you make is something you might call a verbal keysmash, and he just laughs at you as he pins you to the futon again.

"You're such an ass!" You say it between fits of laughter. "I'm gonna _pee_ oh my God stop!" You slap at him and kick at him but he's pretty much refusing to let up. "You think I'm kidding but I'm actually gonna piss my pants and then you're gonna have to clean it up and— uh." He's stopped tickling you. He's kind of just looking at you.

You feel your stomach flutter and you watch him lean in and you should really do something about it but you don't, you just sit there with him almost on top of you and let him lean in further, watch his eyes close.

Your eyes slip shut and the rational part of your brain is telling you over and over that you're about to make a big mistake but that is entirely unimportant right now.

His lips are on yours and they feel just like you remember.

You missed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this chapter!! i don't think so anyway. ahh just let me know if there are warnings you want me to add and stuff as always. also i know that the pesterlogs don't work past the first line for the same person i've spent literally around 2 and a half hours trying to fix it i just can't be bothered anymore gomen.

You feel a whole lot worse about the whole kissing Bro thing than you want to. Dave didn't even walk in or anything. You could totally just keep it a secret between you and Bro, and you're definitely considering it.

But then you think about Emily. You like her a lot, and you really wouldn't want to see her hurt by your stupid mistake. And then you're beginning to wonder if it really _was_ a mistake—according to logic, yeah, kissing a 36-year-old man when you have a really wonderful girlfriend is a mistake, but you don't know if logic still applies when that same 36-year-old man took your virginity just under a year ago. Logic probably should have kicked in before you bent over.

You wish things could just be easy, and you tell Bro that after he's pulled away, and he makes a face. He tells you he shouldn't have done that, and that you should just be happy with your girlfriend.

You just aren't sure if that's what you want, either. Well, it's what you _want_ , of course—you want to be happy, you want Emily to be happy, you want Bro to be happy. It's just that you're starting to feel like you have to decide between making Emily happy and making Bro happy, and it's not a decision you wanted to make. You're a little worried. You could make one of them happy, or you could try too hard and end up making neither of them happy. If you try too hard you'll probably end up making them both _un_ happy, and that's the exact opposite of what you want.

The choice should be really obvious, though. Bro is 36 years old. You've got things in common with him, sure, but he's 21 years older than you. When you were born he was raising a child. He's got a whole lot more experience in the world than you do. Having a relationship with him (especially considering you've already had sex with him) would probably be considered really illegal. Your dad would kill him.

You should just stay with Emily, because you do care about her. You like being with her.

Problem solved.

Sorta.

You still feel really guilty and you avoid making eye contact with Bro for the rest of your last day and a half at the apartment, and you don't even really say goodbye to him when you leave to get on your plane.

Maybe things will be better when you talk to him later on Pesterchum. If you talk to him later.

You need to stop stressing over this. March break wasn't supposed to stress you out _more_.

You wind up sleeping from the moment you get on the plane to the moment you land in Washington. Nothing like totally messing up your sleep pattern.

When the plane is landing, the lady next to you nudges you and tells you to put your seat belt on, and you suppose you'd rather have a bit to wake up than stumble out of the plane half-asleep.

You go to get your luggage once the plane's landed and you're sort of trudging but if you don't put on a happy face before you see your dad, he'll know something's up. So you do. You hug your dad and you tell him you had a wonderful time and he asks if you'd like to go out for dinner and you say yes, of course you do.

Dinner is good, and your dad doesn't spoil you nearly as badly as he did the first time you came back from visiting Dave. Mostly because you go out for pizza, and he just gets a large and tells you you'll take home what you don't eat and have it for lunch at school.

He asks you the same questions as he did last time, though. How was the plane down, how was the plane back, how was your visit, was Bro still just as childish. You must flinch a little at the mention of Bro, because your dad then asks what's wrong.

"I think... I kinda wanna ask your advice on something, dad. But not here."

He looks a little confused, but ever supportive anyway. He just nods. "I'll give you advice whenever you need it, son," he says, "all you need to do is ask."

"I don't really feel hungry anymore," you say. There's no going back now. You have to ask for advice. You have to tell your dad about you and Bro, and there's no way to avoid it because you've already told him you need advice and you're the worst at making things up.

You feel a little sick.

Your dad calls the waiter over and asks him to box up the rest of your pizza and all you can feel is nervousness, this constant weight pressing down on you. You feel like you might throw up. Your dad's gonna kill you. Or Bro. Or both of you.

When you get in the car, pizza box in your lap, your dad asks if you'd like to talk about it on the way home. All you can really do is shake your head. If you open your mouth you're just going to scream.

You stay silent through the ride home and immediately retreat to your room to unpack your bag. Well. Unpack your bag and also log into pesterchum. It feels so nostalgic. Coming home from Dave's place to immediately talk to Bro.

You feel sicker.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: please be here.  
EB: please oh my GOD why aren't you here.  
EB: i have never hated a person so much in my life.  
EB: i need to talk to you.  
EB: i'm gonna die.  
EB: bro.  
EB: bro bro bro bro bro bro.  
EB: bro please.  
TT: Can't a guy take a shit around here?  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/37901513950/tumblr_mf0pyyzK4J1rco46p)

You have tears in your eyes as you slam your laptop shut, tossing it onto your bed with maybe just a _little_ too much force. You sniffle and try to rub the tears away, try to pretend like you aren't crying, but you're pretty sure that your face is already red. Your dad is going to know, and that's going to make this about a million times worse.

"John," you hear him call you from downstairs, "didn't you want to speak with me? I assumed you meant as soon as we got home. Is something the matter?"

You hate your dad's attitude towards everything.

Okay, no, you don't.

You just hate pretty much everything right now and he's not helping. You sniffle and hiccup and sob while you try to wipe at your eyes and pretend like you haven't been crying in your room for twenty minutes.

You can do this.

You're just gonna tell your dad the truth.

...Most of the truth.

You aren't going to tell him about the pot you smoked. At all. Ever. Regardless of how things had went, you'd never ever tell your dad that you had smoked pot. You're going to tell him that you were fully aware of your actions and fully consenting and all that good stuff. He can't get mad at Bro then. He can get mad at you, just not at Bro.

"I'm coming, dad," you call down the stairs and then cross the hall to the washroom where you grab a washcloth and rub your face with cold water. Then you put the wash cloth on the side of the sink and head downstairs to talk to your dad.

"Son," he says, and he sounds absolutely concerned, "are you alright? You look like you've been crying."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He's got this stupid fatherly instinct. No matter how hard you try to make it look like you didn't just bawl your eyes out, it _always_ looks like you just bawled your eyes out.

"Um... Dad. I have to tell you something."

This is going to be coming out as gay (bisexual? You have no fucking clue. Sexual identity is hard. It's hard and nobody understands.) combined with telling your dad you slept with a 35-year-old.

This is going to be the most difficult conversation of your life.

"Anything, John. I want to help you."

"I like guys." It's the first thing that comes to mind and you just spit it out before you have a chance to rethink it at all.

He smiles, wide, meaningful. One of his best smiles.

"Is that all?" He seems unsurprised. You aren't sure whether or not you should be a little offended by that.

"I— Y—yes. Yes. That's all. I'm— I like boys that's all I wanted to tell you do you still love me dad."

"John," he says, and _he's_ the one who sounds offended. "Of _course_ I love you. How can I not? Who you love has no bearing on my life, son. I'm so, so proud of you."

You hate everything right now, but you hate nothing more than you hate yourself.

You are an idiot.

You go back upstairs after giving your dad a big hug and trying not to start crying again, and open your laptop to pester Bro, finding his offline messages.

Those start you crying again—he was starting to like you? You wrecked it, but he was actually starting to _like_ you. You sniffle and wipe your face on your sleeve and choke out a sob while you try to send him a message.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: i didn't tell him.  
EB: so, rest easy and keep hating me or whatever.  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--

You wait a day for him to say anything else to you.

You go back to school and try to cover up how puffy your eyes are with make up. (You just get asked why you're wearing make up, and take it off at lunch—then, after lunch, you get asked why your eyes are so puffy.)

You hang out with Emily a lot and don't tell her about how you kissed Bro. You want to. The entire thing makes you feel so guilty.

A week passes, and Bro still hasn't said anything to you. You give Emily a kiss on the lips for the first time, after you take her home after your usual date on Friday night. It might be partially because you want to make up for kissing Bro, and only partially because you really want to, but she doesn't really have to know that.

You're becoming a regular little liar.

Even if you're only lying by omission, it still totally counts. You're such a jerk. That's all you feel like these days—you're just a jerk and a liar, nothing else.

Two weeks pass and Bro still hasn't said a word to you.

Dave has kept relatively quiet too, and you can only assume you've pissed them both off by getting in a fight with Bro and now Dave won't speak to you either.

Three weeks, and it's starting to get really upsetting. People are starting to notice that you're a little bit off. You're sadder lately, says your dad. You're quiet lately, says Emily.

It's three days before your birthday when you tell Emily you dont think you and her should see each other anymore. You feel like shit about it, but you think you feel shittier about staying with her knowing what you did on your March break.

You end up making her cry, because you fumble around for a real reason, one that isn't 'I kissed my best friend's brother'. You almost stutter out 'it's not you, it's me,' but realize that's a highly insensitive way of breaking up with somebody. Then, you hesitate for a long time.

She asks you if you're just breaking up with her because you don't like her.

You say no.

She asks you if you're breaking up with her because you found a better girlfriend.

You say no again.

She asks you if you're leaving her for the lady you lost your virginity to.

You say maybe, and she smacks you, then walks away.

You think you've lost a few friends in the past month, and it's starting to get tiring.

Emily doesn't speak to you for the remainder of the week. Doesn't even look at you. Gets her locker moved across the school, even though it's entirely inconvenient for her. She doesn't even wish you a happy birthday on Facebook.

Bro doesn't wish you a happy birthday, either. Rose does, and Jade does, and a bunch of people on Facebook do even though you haven't spoken in years. Your dad makes three separate cakes for the occasion. Dave leaves a few (rather unenthused) messages.

But no Bro.

It's not until after midnight when he finally speaks to you—it's been exactly four weeks since you've spoken to or of him.

\-- titaniumtesticles [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
TT: I miss you.  
EB: oh.  
EB: i...  
EB: thought you kind of  
EB: hated me?  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/37904495911/tumblr_mf0ussr6Vp1rco46p)

You try not to focus on the fact that bro has an admitted crush on you or whatever. He's an old man. Can you even call what he gets crushes? You have no idea how old people work.

You watch his stupid movie with him. It's some B movie with zombies and a priest and some girl who wants to sleep with him, and at some point a couple of zombies tear open somebody's stomach, except the gore just makes you laugh because it's totally just a plastic bag full of fruit punch or something.

After the movie's over, he wishes you a happy birthday, and tells you he's sorry for disappearing for so long, and reminds you again that he missed you, and tells you that he won't disappear like that again. You tell him that he better not, and that you're tired and on your way to bed. He tells you to sleep well and you tell him to do the same, then close your laptop.

You've had kind of a long day, so you just set your laptop on your bedside table and roll over to sleep.

You feel kind of bad that you don't like Bro. That you spent a month trying your best to get over him. You _want_ to like him—but you feel guilty over a million different things and that's not really helping. You feel bad that you broke up with Emily, and that you kissed Bro on March break, and that you lied to your dad about what you wanted to tell him.

You start talking to Bro again after that, though, and Dave, too. Dave doesn't say anything about how he's barely spoken to you for the past month, but you don't think you really want to talk about it. You don't want to talk about anything, you just want things to go back to normal.

You're pretty sure Bro tries to hold back on the flirting because he knows how you feel about all of it. Not that you'd probably be able to tell flirting from anything else anyway—you've never really been good at it. It makes you feel even worse when it seems like he's stopping himself from saying certain things.

Wow, romance is tiring. It's the most tiring thing you've ever experienced. You want to take a vow of celibacy and never ever speak to anybody cute again. That would solve every single one of your problems.

Instead, you just try to talk to Bro like nothing has changed, and you keep talking to Dave like nothing has changed, and you don't even bring any of this up to Rose or Jade. Emily doesn't speak to you, and it seems like a couple of your friends from school are avoiding you when you go back on Monday, probably because of the break-up.

The only person who mentions the whole thing to you is Ethan, and he asks if you're really going to date some older lady rather than Emily.

"No," you say, frowning. "I was wrong, I'm not gonna date anybody. Dating sucks."

"Do you mind if I go for Emily?" What a jerk. He knows you and her just broke up.

"Do what you want," you say, and you come off as being more pissed off than you actually are, but you don't care too much. Why would he go after Emily _now_? That's not fair to her. Or you. He's a douche. You're a douche too. Everybody is kind of douchey in their own way, but Ethan is like a superdouche.

By the end of the week, Ethan and Emily are actually dating. You guess it didn't take her long to get over you, but you _did_ break up with her in a really awful way. You guess you can't really blame her. You still think Ethan is a douche.

You've also been talking to Bro for most of the week about the possibility of telling your dad what happened, because you feel really bad that you've been lying to him for almost a year now.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: i know we got in a huge fight last time we talked about this.  
EB: but like... i feel bad lying to my dad, bro.  
TT: John, what do you want me to do about it?  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/37975190472/tumblr_mf2kzjDeSR1rco46p)

You shut your laptop and decide that yes, you are going to casually approach your dad about this topic and it's going to go just fine and maybe you won't have to tell your dad _exactly_ who it was that you lost your virginity to and maybe Bro won't be in any trouble.

Yes.

This plan will definitely work.

You go downstairs, peeking slowly into the kitchen and eventually walking in, making a face at your dad as he puts a Betty Crocker box in the recycling bin.

"Now, son," he says, sounding a little stern. "Don't make that face. These aren't for you, they're for the potluck lunch later this week at work."

"Okay, okay," you say, laughing. "Jeez. Couldn't make stuff from scratch for them?"

"I haven't got the time for that." He laughs, too, though. You're just glad you don't have to eat any of the cupcakes he's got in the oven.

"Dad, could I talk to you about something?" Now or never, you suppose.

"Sure you can, son. Anything." He pulls a chair out from the dining table and sits, gestures for you to do the same. You don't, only because you feel better when you're standing up and pacing a little than you would if you were sitting down.

"Okay, well... what if I wasn't a virgin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this](http://zeldawiki.org/Like_Like) is what john was talking about when he was talking about bro like-liking him and stealing his shield and stuff.


	7. Chapter 7

Your dad looks at you like he doesn't believe that you could possibly be anything _but_ a virgin. Then he looks, for a moment, like he may be trying to figure out who you could have lost your virginity to.

"Son, if you aren't a virgin, er... were you at least safe?"

You want to tell him the truth. You really, really do, but you know for a fact that he will be about a million times more disappointed in you than he already is if he knows what happened with the condom Bro _wanted_ to use. You've been thinking about it so much lately that everything seems like it happened just yesterday, and you remember all sorts of stupid little details. Ugh. You thought smoking pot was supposed to make you _forget_ things, not remember them.

"Y-yes," you say, but you're a little bit shaky and you feel a little bit nauseous.

"Was it with Dave?" Oh. Oh _god_ , your dad has assumed the complete wrong thing. "Because that's perfectly alright! You two are great friends, and you have been for years—I'm sure that being with him, if you _are_ with him, will only bring the two of you closer." He's still going. No. No, this is the worst thing ever. "Am I correct in my assumption, son?"

"N-no, dad, ew," your face feels hot. "It was _not_ Dave, that's so gross."

Your dad laughs at you, then stands and puts a hand on your shoulder. "I assumed because of your timing in telling me you're attracted to men. Do you feel comfortable telling me who it _was_?"

You stare at the floor for a long time. You know that your dad would be so disappointed in you if you told him the whole story. He'd be disappointed and probably angry and upset and you really don't want that—but you think he'd be more disappointed if you avoided telling him than if you just told him now.

"Well, um... it was somebody... older." Maybe you can hint at it and he won't get exactly who it is. Maybe you can lie.

...No you can't. You're shitty at lying _anyway_ , and even worse at lying to your dad.

"So it wasn't Dave or Emily. I can't think of who else it could be, son. You've got me a little stumped. How old?" You stare at your feet.

"A lot old."

When you look up from your feet, you catch your dad's lips twitching into a frown. "Older than me, son?" He sounds so concerned. You feel like an ass.

"No, not _that_ old, oh my god." Whoops. That was kind of rude, probably. Your dad just laughs, though.

"Alright, how old, then? You're going to need to help me out here."

"U-um... In their thirties, maybe."

"Johnathan Egbert, who did you sleep with?" He's starting to sound kind of mad. Oh no. Abort mission. This is not worth it. You need to run away and hide and never speak of this again.

"Does... does it really matter _who_?" You chew on your lip and look down at the floor again.

"Yes," he says, turning away from you and raising his arms. You aren't sure if that's anger or what. " _Yes_ , it matters, John, because that is highly illegal! You're fifteen years old! Tell me who it was."

"Why? What're you gonna do?" You're getting kind of scared now. Scared for Bro, mostly. If your dad grounds you, you'll get over it, but if your dad is freaking out this badly over it, you're worried for what he'll do to Bro. You should've just listened to him when he told you not to tell your dad.

"It depends on who this person is," he says, "and how willing they are to stay far, _far_ away from you."

"Dad, I like him!" Wait. Shit. You hadn't told him it was a man you slept with—so, now he knows that. "Just— drop it, dad. Please. It doesn't matter who it was. I don't want him in trouble."

When you look at your dad, you swear you've never seen him look quite so disappointed in you, and that makes you feel like total shit. He's disappointed in you. Genuinely disappointed in you. You can't remember the last time he gave you a look like that—you think it might have been in eighth grade when you punched a kid in the face. Then, even, he at least knew it was an accident. Now, you've done something _on purpose_ and disappointed your father and he's giving you that look, and...

You don't think you can handle this.

You turn and leave the kitchen, grabbing your phone from your bedroom and locking yourself in the bathroom. You want to talk to bro.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: you were right.  
TT: So, I should expect the van in, what, ten minutes?  
EB: bro.  
TT: What? It's a distinct possibility.  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/48691750041/tumblr_mlpn0aV6Bk1rco46p)

After taking many deep breaths, trying to make yourself stop crying, you open the door and look up at your dad.

"John," he says gently, putting his hand on your shoulder. "I love you, and I will never stop loving you, no matter who _you_ yourself love. You're my son. That also means that I'm going to do all I can to protect you from people you shouldn't be around. Whoever took your virginity—he is someone you shouldn't be around. You're fifteen, and he's in his _thirties_? And he thought it was okay to take something as serious and important as your _virginity_?"

When he puts it like that, Bro sounds like a total creep. You feel guilty for thinking like that, though.

You want to tell him that it's okay. It's okay, what Bro did. You want to make excuses, like, _it only happened because I was high_ , and, _we were both stoned, that's why it happened_ —but you realize that those things aren't excuses. Not at all. The fact that Bro got you high and then took your virginity actually probably makes it _worse_ , and even if you don't totally see it that way, you know your dad well enough to know that he will. You don't want to see it that way—but that's how it's starting to feel.

"It was an accident," you say softly. It's a weak excuse.

"What, you just slipped and fell, right onto his lap? You just happened to fall backwards, and your pants happened to not be on at the time?"

You want to yell at your dad for talking to you like you're an idiot. But in all reality, you kind of _are_ an idiot. You're just a little kid and you don't know what you're doing and Bro got you high and fucked you, and that makes him kind of messed up.

"Don't get him in trouble," you say quietly, staring at your mismatched socks. One has grey on the heel and toes, one is all white.

"Tell me who it is and I'll consider it." His voice is harsh. Angry. You'd probably be angry, too, in his position.

"Dad, please, he's my friend, and—and I don't want him in trouble." You look up at him, pleading. Begging him not to give Bro shit like you know he'd want to. "Please. It'll never happen again," even though it might, "he's not weird or messed up," even though he is, "I don't want him to end up in jail." That's the only truth you've told since you started speaking.

" _John_." He's only getting angrier every time you evade the question. You don't like this. "Tell me _who_ it is."

"Bro," you say softly, trying not to start bawling again. "It was Bro. Please don't get him in trouble."

You've never seen your dad so flustered before in your life. His face turns an angry red, his mouth opening and closing as if he's a fish trying to breathe dry air. He looks at you, nothing but anger in his eyes, and then turns and walks away. You hear his bedroom door slam shut and you close the bathroom door, locking it again because you don't want to deal with your dad when he comes out of his bedroom.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--  
EB: i've never seen my dad look angrier about anything before in my life.  
TT: Well.  
TT: It was nice knowing you.  
TT: But he's going to fucking kill me.  
EB: :(  
EB: i'm sorry.  
EB: this is my fault.  
TT: Oh my God.  
TT: Shut up.  
TT: I'm the fucking 35-year-old who thinks it's okay to sleep with a kid.  
TT: I'm the fuck up here.  
TT: Not you.  
TT: Just.  
TT: Let me take the fucking blame, John.  
\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

You have nothing left that you can say. Nothing you can even do. Bro's angry at you, your dad's angry at you, Dave's probably never gonna speak to you again because you're about to get his brother put in jail, and you're being a complete asshole about it.

You don't want to deal with any of this right now.

So, you don't.

You lay there on the bathroom floor and have a nap instead.


	8. Chapter 8

Your dad tells you that you aren't allowed to contact Bro anymore, and Bro's not allowed to contact you, either. He says he _will_ be checking your chat history, though he promises not to read your logs.

"You can talk to him once more to explain this," he says, a serious frown on his face, "but not without supervision."

"Dad," you say quickly, pouting at him. You aren't a child and you don't like being treated like one. "I can do it without you watching."

"Son." He looks more serious than you've ever seen him before in your life. "You will not be unsupervised around that man. I refuse to allow it."

You don't argue. It seems like arguing with him at this point is the only thing that could possibly make him angrier. When you do end up talking to Bro again, things are... awkward to say the least.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering titaniumTesticles [TT] \--

EB: we can't talk anymore.  
TT: What? Why?  
EB: my dad said.  
TT: You always listen to what daddy says?

Your dad gives you a dirty look at this point, and you wince.

EB: bro...  
TT: I just.  
EB: please. don't make this harder than it already is.  
TT: I'm not trying to make it hard. I'm trying to understand. You can break the LAW but as soon as he says something is a no-no, you get all 'oh, Bro, sorry, I have to break your little heart'. Why?  
EB: bro.  
EB: please.  
EB: just.  
EB: don't even talk about it.  
EB: end the conversation.  
EB: say we won't talk anymore.  
TT: ...  
TT: Fine.

\-- titaniumTesticles [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

You feel fucking terrible.

You shouldn't feel guilty—you did what was probably best for you—but you hurt Bro.

Your dad is still frowning, even as he watches you block 'titaniumTesticles' from pestering you again.

"John," he says, voice sharp. "Would you mind telling me exactly how _you_ broke the law in this situation?"

Oh, God.

You don't want to have this conversation. Not right now. Not ever, probably, and _especially_ not with your dad.

"I—" You fumble around for a moment with your words, stuttering. "I just..." Your dad is going to lose his shit. "I got high with him. That's why we had sex, b-because I was high." You're fucking babbling now, going on and on like an idiot, wrecking everything even _more_ than you already had—and you didn't even think that was possible.

You thought you'd seen your dad angry before. When you first told him about yourself and Bro, you thought that—his red face, his mouth flapping—was anger. That was nothing. You have to look away from him to be able to handle it.

"You are _grounded,_ " he says, and it seems like an awfully mild punishment. "I swear, John, that I don't even _know_ you anymore." Then, he says something you never expected to hear—not from him. "I'm just so disappointed in you, son."

It hits you harder than you expect it to. It _hurts_. It makes you want to cry.

You disappointed your dad.

He leaves the room, doesn't speak to you for the remainder of the evening. Doesn't even speak to you in the morning. You go to school feeling like a zombie, stumbling through the halls and daydreaming through your classes, fumbling for words when teachers ask questions and nodding when anybody asks if you're alright. You don't feel like explaining the situation to anybody.

You are the first to break that terrible, tense silence after he gets home from work.

"Please don't get him in trouble," you say softly, not willing to meet your dad's eyes.

"The only reason I'm _not_ is because of Dave," he says, "because I don't think you'd ever forgive me if you were unable to contact him. I don't for one second think that that man as a capable parent, but as long as he isn't contacting _you_ , I won't take any action." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Count yourself lucky."

Then, the tense silence returns. You try to act normal with Jade and Rose because you still haven't told them about you and Bro. You wouldn't have told Dave, either, but his knowing is kind of a requirement—he was kind of _there_.

Your conversations with Dave feel... a little weird.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

EB: how's bro doing?  
TG: oh hey john  
TG: yeah im fine  
TG: nice to talk to you too  
TG: yeah  
EB: i'm sorry.  
TG: its fine  
[Read more →](http://johnfics.tumblr.com/private/48889482319/tumblr_mlu5ef5kGz1rco46p)

Once again, your dad doesn't really speak to you. Doesn't even call you down for dinner. You end up going downstairs at half past eight, making yourself a sandwich and then retreating back up to your room.

The silence is totally killing you. He's just... quiet and mad. Very, very mad.

Your dad doesn't speak to you a whole lot for the next little while.

When he does, it's been over a week—he's spoken to you a little, yes, but, for the most part, he's been eating dinner in his study and cleaning dishes once you're out of the kitchen. He doesn't ask how your day was, he doesn't ask how your friends are, he just... sits around in silence and is content to let you stew in your misery.

Well.

No, that's not totally true.

He doesn't want you miserable—he's just... incredibly unhappy with you.

When he does finally speak to you, he has calmed down _considerably_.

"I apologize, John," he says. "I... overreacted a little."

Your first instinct is to wonder if this means you can talk to Bro again. You want to ask, and you almost do, but you hold your tongue. That would _definitely_ be something he doesn't want to hear right at the moment.

"You didn't," you tell him instead, feeling guilt rush back for basically _everything_ you did with Bro. Your dad spent hundreds to send you to meet your best friend and you got stoned and slept with your friend's brother. "I just—I made mistakes."

He seems happy that you're admitting that.

"I'm glad you can see that, son. Still, I did react very strongly."

That's an understatement, you think but don't say. You're glad he can admit when he's done things wrong. "I shouldn't have done... any of the stuff I did," you sigh, staring at your feet. Your dad is much calmer now, but you still aren't allowed to talk to Bro, and you aren't about to ask whether or not you'll eventually be allowed to.

You still feel the sting of your dad telling you he was disappointed in you.

"John," he says, his voice gentle as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. "Everybody has times of experimentation in their lives." You can't tell if he's talking about drugs or liking men. "I smoked marijuana when I was your age—everybody did." Oh. Drugs. Your dad used to smoke pot. That's new information. Whoa. "Experimentation is okay, John. But you need to be safe."

"We _were_ safe!" You think you're at the stage with this lie that you're starting to believe it yourself. You _totally_ used a condom. Yeah. No unsafe sex with thirty five year old men for you. Ever. Nope.

"Alright, but it doesn't change Bro's age, and that in and of itself counts as being unsafe." Your dad's frowning again. This is making you anxious, actually—all the fighting you did with him over the course of the past month or so have made you mildly terrified of your dad getting angry with you. It's not like it's something that happens often. You're just a scared little baby. "If you'd gotten high with _Dave_ and had sex with him, to be fully honest, I wouldn't have minded."

That makes you frown right back at him.

"That's not fair!"

"John. Dave's legal guardian got you high and took your virginity. You are fifteen years old. I am being _more_ than fair. I should be phoning child protective services."

He has a point.

You sigh.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, son. It's... something you'll understand someday. When and if you decide to have children of your own, you're going to want to protect them. I worry for you, I get scared for you—it's part of being a father. I don't want you hurt." You've only gotten this speech about a million times. "What were you hoping for out of your relationship with Bro?"

That was a question you weren't expecting. What _did_ you want? You have to think about it, and you stay silent for a long time.

Finally, you say, "I wanted him to be my boyfriend, I guess." Eventually. After you'd turned eighteen or something. Or... just... whenever you decided you wanted to ask him out. Or whenever he asked you out. You don't know for sure. You're embarrassed by the words as soon as you say them, though, and you half-hide your face in your hands.

"I want you to remember something." Your dad has a look on his face of barely restrained disappointment—or you could be imagining it. You don't know. "Bro is in his thirties. He's raising a child who is your age. What do you think he would want out of a partner?" Your dad pauses for a second, then changes his question. "What do you think _any_ thirty-some year old would want out of a partner?"

You don't like this line of questioning.

You answer him anyway.

"Um... Maybe someone with a job. Or some money, I guess. Somebody who could... help pay the bills." These things are hard to admit because you know they don't apply to you. You're becoming quickly aware that you're far too young for Bro, and you don't like it. "Maybe someone their own age." After a pause, you add, "or someone to settle down with." These are all things you think you'll want when you're that age, and they're all upsetting you. Bro can't settle down with you, and you can't pay for anything with Bro—you wonder if he wanted to date you at all, or if he just said that to make you feel better about having sex with him.

"Exactly," your dad pats you on the shoulder. "How close are you to settling down? Having a career? Making your own money?"

You _really_ don't like this line of questioning.

Even though you know your dad's not trying to be hurtful, his words still bother you more than anything else right now.

"Like, six years, probably?" It's a question because you don't know for sure. You're only fifteen. You can't say with absolute certainty that you'll be finished with college when you're twenty one—in all likelihood, you probably won't be.

"Do you think Bro wants somebody who has these things now, or somebody who can guess that they'll have them in the next ten years?" Your dad is trying to be gentle, you can hear it in his voice. Still, you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

"Now," you say, your voice cracking.

"All I'm trying to do is protect you from getting hurt, John." He rubs your back, reaching up to wipe a tear away. "I'm worried that if I let this play out, Bro would expect too much out of such a young boy. He has different needs than you do. Different wants. Do you understand?"

You nod, sniffling and trying not to sob.

You hate it when your dad is right.


End file.
